Inside Westminster: Tales of Hubris and Betrayal No 17
by mrsordinary54
Summary: 'Just Desserts' is inspired by the shenanigans of the British political 'elite'.


INSIDE WESTMINSTER: TALES OF HUBRIS AND BETRAYAL

17

JUST DESSERTS

It was a momentous week for Sophia Mowbray-Dick: at the end of it she was to celebrate taking silk. But sadly, her 'nearest and dearest' wasn't to accompany her to her fairy ball. No, his name had decidedly been crossed off the invitation list. But who would accompany her instead? As she climbed out of the bath to face another dizzying day in the Chambers of Wriglet, Toad and Trotter, she had a brainwave.

She'd been up at Oxford with Mr Speaker Scratchet and had nearly been persuaded into his bed. Except she couldn't quite bring herself to stoop that low: height wasn't his only shortcoming, he openly bragged about his working class roots which was totally off-putting.

Anyway, they had remained friends, which was just as well because this said wee man was going to form part of her plan to completely stuff 'yours truly'.

Potty, she'd decided, deserved whatever shit came his way. And Sophia, more than anyone, knew exactly what made him tick. Ambition was his driving force; not the normal ordinary desire to be 'top dog' in one's chosen profession. No, this was an over-weaning desire to outdo everyone, in everything. Potty simply would not put himself forward in anything - from school games and exams to whom he was going to marry – without the almost cast-iron guarantee that he would be the victor.

Sophia was going to be careful though as she didn't want to ruin her lately beloved completely: she needed whatever dosh could be squeezed out of him to look after their large brood. Yes, _their_ children and the thought of them nearly brought tears to her eyes. But ever in control, she quashed this sign of weakness before they smudged her mascara.

'Scumbag sheister,' Sophia mumbled as she got ready for the day ahead.

As she sat in the taxi, ferrying her to her office in the City, she formulated her plan. Maurice Scratchet had agreed to accompany her to her Chambers' celebration of her nomination for silk. She knew that Maurice's marriage was 'open' and therefore his wife had not objected. She planned to pick Maurice's brains as to Parliamentary procedure and how she could prevent Potty from achieving the one goal he'd had in life since he had been at prep school: running the country.

But more of that later.

Potty had succumbed to Mandy's simple but strict regimen: more output and less input. Until she had 'taken him in hand', he'd been living on a diet of pot noodles, beer and take-aways, with only the occasional decent meal at the Knight-Johnston household. In consequence he'd piled on the pounds, sadly mainly around his already substantial belly.

'Just a little dessert,' Potty had pleaded.

'Definitely not!' retorted Mandy, who was scrunched up on the sofa bed next to her 'bear' (she couldn't bring herself to even think of the nickname 'skunk' used by the lowest level of tabloids). 'Think of the consequences: a moment on the lips, forever on the hips.'

How ironic that Mandy of all people was resorting to the threat of 'consequences'.

'You've got to get in shape if you think you've got a chance at a bid.'

Potty, never one to deny himself any pleasure, wasn't sure that Mandy's plan was going to work. But ever the woman pleaser, he acquiesced. Earning 'Brownie points' might get him an extra special favour later…he couldn't wait!

'We've got to plan tomorrow's speech,' continued Mandy. 'It's really important that you don't sound like you're gunning for the leadership. Fortunately, people are getting fed up with the shenanigans of the Opposition. I mean, hasn't Jezzer met all sorts of unsavoury people, all without pre-conditions. No, I think the great unwashed are getting wise to all the political manoeuvrings and blatant self-interest.'

'Yes, my little 'beaver', you're absolutely right. Got to look as though I'm not trying to knife the old turkey in the back. Got to be a bit more subtle than that.'

'The venue's great: you standing in front of all that masculine equipment should conjure up the idea of power. And it's just down the road from all that pottery where the old crock bored the socks off those middle-aged factory workers. Top marks to Jezzer. I mean Hastings really could be swung in any General Election.

Everything in Mandy's world could be spun to mean something to someone.

So the setting for Potty's supposed subtle come-back speech was set. The man himself was looking trimmer and had had the bounce of his flowing locks curtailed. But somehow he looked different, less of a man, coiffed yet wrinkled and pasty.

'Christ, you picked the wrong suit you absolute eejit.'

The text arrived too late and Potty was already hammering up the M1. He'd gone into a post-coital reverie on the morning of his speech and hadn't been listening to the instructions of his little beaver.

'The blue one hanging on the side of the wardrobe. I've had it cleaned especially.'

Unfortunately, it would take a bit more 'input' to get Potty in shape!


End file.
